


Come in from the Cold

by locketaroundyourthroat, SpaceDementia49



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovered Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locketaroundyourthroat/pseuds/locketaroundyourthroat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceDementia49/pseuds/SpaceDementia49
Summary: Steve and Bucky try to take a reprieve. The world—and the past—get in anyway.





	1. What You Said You Were

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful SpaceDemntia49 for the beautiful artwork (check it out in Chapter 2!)! And thank you to Emmitha for her beta work and cheerleading!

The first time Alexander Pierce came to the Winter Soldier, still shivering and dripping wet from the cyro chamber, he had taken Bucky’s face in his hands, and pressed a warm kiss to his forehead. 

 

The memory faded back out. The bed beside Steve seemed like a different world in comparison. He pulled the heavy bulk of Steve closer with his right arm. Steve didn’t mind the metal one, but Bucky didn’t think its cold plates belonged in their cocoon of blankets and so he left it out. Steve sleepily mouthed at Bucky’s neck. Bucky didn’t have to guess what words the lips were shaping. I love you, I love you, I love you. Steve had only started saying it more now that Bucky was saying it back. This wasn’t entirely new to them, but it wasn’t old either. In Brooklyn they’d had brotherhood and love, but no sex—and then they’d shared a few quick hand jobs in the confines of a cot in a tent in Europe, but there hadn’t really been any connection other than fear. Now they had both sex and love. The first time they were together again, in the now, they had both cried.

The safe house where Steve had found him was a cabin in the Swiss Alps, but it was deep enough in the wilderness that it wasn’t near any tourist areas. The winter was harsh but beautiful. They kept the fire roaring and stayed in bed most days. Sometimes they drank coffee on the front porch and watched the sun rise over the mountains. It certainly wasn’t the worst place to get your mind back. Sometimes Bucky thought they were too lucky, but if anyone deserved the reprieve, it was Steve. Before Steve found him, Bucky had lived in some horrible places, so he was glad Steve had found him here, instead of living in a car in Georgia in the summer. Though he didn’t doubt that Steve would have just as happily climbed into that car as he had into Bucky’s cabin.

“Shield sent me to a cabin after I got out of the ice,” Steve had told him one night when they were huddled by the fire. “It wasn’t like this,” he gestured to the one room hut as if it were a palace. “It was just—It was lonely.” The weight of Steve’s eyes on him had said the rest.

Nothing ever prepared Bucky for remembering. The thoughts would creep in under the guise of normality and then twist when he realized it wasn’t another memory of a dance hall and a pretty girl on his arm, or a day at Coney Island with Steve, but from the 70 years since. He was going to gain it all back eventually, he thought, but so far there didn’t seem to be any logic to the order that it came back. He knew there was some time in Berlin on the East side, a lot of moving around, Zola’s return was somewhere in there, there were several decades in Siberia, and then, in the 90s, he was pretty sure, Pierce and the move to DC. He didn’t know the whole timeline, or what he had done, or what had happened to him. Lately he’d been wondering.

 

Steve had found Bucky in the nearby farmer’s market. It was in a big warehouse, the cold air still blowing in, but protected from the snow. Bucky spotted him with Sam coming in from the west entrance and had, with a matter of seconds, figured out how to evade them. His brain also supplied half a dozen ways to kill them on his way out if he so chose. He had known they were tracking him and so far he’d done a good job of slipping into crowds and keeping out of sight. They had gotten close before, but never right on target. Sam kept his eyes on the exits, watching for Bucky to bolt, and Steve was showing pictures of Bucky to some of the stand owners and craftspeople, asking politely if anyone had seen him around. It had been months since he’d gotten a look at Steve. That was what did it in the end. That poor man with his sad eyes. 

For nearly 30 minutes Bucky had lurked around them just out of sight, deciding. Part of him wanted to walk right up and plant one on Steve in the middle of the market. Part of him still wanted to run. In the end he just stood still, and let Steve come to him. His boy had never looked more alive. 

 

Bucky could count on one metal hand the number of times Pierce had touched him. After that kiss, which Bucky plopped into the timeline around the time of the fall of the USSR, there were only a couple others. All of them were power moves. Textbook. When you’re surrounded by machine guns, and someone slaps you across the face, they aren’t trying to hurt you. It’s a reminder of who you are to them. And the Winter Solider was an asset, yes. But he was still just a tool and tools could be replaced if they malfunctioned. 

Bucky had ridden the high of the softness off that kiss for hours. The only people who touched him were techs in latex gloves, and they did so with such hesitance that it did nothing but leave him more touch starved. But that kiss to his forehead had made him want to fall at Pierce’s feet. It was calculating. Pierce had done his research. He knew how the Soviets handled their pet soldier—more of a weapon than a person. He was prepped with the code words and the chair, sent out for missions, and then cleaned and put away in storage until the next use. Alexander Pierce had another plan. He didn’t have the words, and he didn’t plan to keep him on a shelf.

“You don’t take the greatest weapon in the world and put it on ice,” he had said to his new team, “You use it.” He addressed Bucky directly then. “And you will certainly be used to your full potential.” Three practiced steps closer. “Together, we’re gonna save the world.”

You don’t need the words and the red notebook if you’ve got devotion, and Pierce knew how to get it. He didn’t just give the Winter Soldier a mission. He gave him a purpose. Bucky was just too far gone to see through it. 

The memories were on him now, but he had no way to organize them. They lolled around heavy in his head. He wished he had something concrete to hold them in place. 

Steve had told him about the file their first day at the cabin. He’d pulled it out of a bag while saying, “I know you might not be ready for this yet.” And Bucky had been resolutely not ready for even the cover, with that picture of him frozen in the chamber. He’d come back to himself curled in the corner of the room. It had been a few months now, though, and more memories had been coming back, and it was too confusing to not have the facts. He knew it would be difficult, and maybe cause another panic attack, but the knowledge was worth it. 

 

“Steve,” Bucky said. Steve breathed hot air against Bucky’s neck, the barest effort at words. Bucky squeezed him a little to rouse him. “Steve.”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve said finally.

Bucky took a breath. “I want to see the file.”

Steve sat up from the bed slowly; sleep still sticking to him like sand. “Are you sure?”

Bucky sat up, too. Above the fireplace were some of Steve’s sketches, ripped out from notebooks. Drawings of the mountains, of the cabin, and of Steve’s friends; a lot of them were of Bucky. Seeing himself through Steve’s eyes always helped him feel less horrible. He drew Bucky so softly, included the metal arm so easily, as if it were meant to be there. 

“I need to know,” Bucky said. 

Steve got out of bed. Bucky wished he could draw so that he could capture Steve’s naked body with all of the reverence it deserved. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

Steve started getting dressed. Underwear and sweat pants and a t-shirt, socks and a sweater. Even with the fire warming the room, Steve liked to be cozy. He’d never liked the cold, especially after he came out of the ice. Bucky followed Steve’s trajectory—got out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. He liked to be shirtless and let the heat from the fire absorb into his bare skin. And he was starting to like the way the flames reflected off the metal arm. 

There was a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace. Bucky put another log on the fire and settled down into the nest. Steve was bumbling around in the kitchenette—really just a hot plate, and an icebox—he filled the kettle with water from the bathroom sink and put it on the hot plate. He was making tea, Bucky realized. 

“This doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Bucky said. “Don’t over think it.”

“I’m worried you’re not thinking it through enough,” Steve said without looking up. He took out the jar of loose tea and poured a bit into a coffee filter. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Bucky said. “The memories come back in fits and I never know what’s going to creep up. Even if I don’t remember every thing now, I’m going to eventually. I’d like some heads up on what’s coming.”

Steve said nothing. The water boiled and he carefully poured the hot water over the leaves and coffee filter into a mug. Without time to steep, the tea would be weak, barely more than warm water. 

“I need the anchor,” Bucky said. “You don’t understand what its like to not know—”

Steve slammed the kettle down so loud it crashed, but didn’t break—a minor marvel, given his strength. Water sloshed onto the hot plate and turned to steam. “Of course I don’t know what it’s like.” Steve hissed. “The fucking horror that you’ve lived through. That I let happen—”

“You didn’t—”

“Shut up. You get your guilt, I get mine.”

Bucky squeezed his mouth into a tight line. “Then let me know mine.”

Steve was still tight with tension. “I’m not trying to stop you. I would never try to control you like that. I’m just—”

“Protective. I know.” Bucky rolled up to standing and crossed the couple of steps between them.

“But you’ve read it. You know what I’ve done. All of Hydra knows. The world, if they got through the files Natasha released online. I’m done being the only guy who doesn’t know the whole story.”

 

They settled down with their tea in the nest and Steve brought out the file Natasha had given him. “It’s not everything.” Steve said. “There must be more than just this. But it’s a start.”

Bucky took the file from him and opened it. Steve was right that it was partial. The documents were all around the same few years, late eighties to mid nineties. It was probably they very last years that the Russians had him. A lot of the pages had redactions, black marker obscuring the words—and most of it was in Russian. Inside were also Steve’s hand-written notes and word-by-word translations, probably from the internet, as they were slightly off. 

A lot of it Bucky already remembered. The chair. Cryo. Missions: redacted. And then, Alexander Pierce and the sale of the Winter Soldier to S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

Bucky had hit techs before. He’d shoved his way through rooms of armed guards and doctors at different points through the years. They called it erratic or volatile. They would put him down with tranquilizer darts like a wild animal. But he never hit Pierce. He knew that was a line not to cross. He only tried once. 

They were in a hollowed out strip mall in California. He had taken out a room of guards. Most were unconscious on the floor. A few were dead. When Pierce came in, the ones that were left had him surrounded. One had a gun to his head. Not a tranq gun, a real one.

“We need to take him out,” the guy with the gun said. “He’s not worth all this.”

“Stand down,” Pierce said.  
The guy hesitantly stepped away. Bucky was in the center of the room, breathing like a bull. It had been too long since his last wipe, the color was starting to come back. He could remember. He could hate. 

“Soldier,” Pierce said, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit pants. “What seems to be the problem?”

Bucky bared his teeth.

“You know better than to misbehave like this.” Pierce clicked his tongue at Bucky. He took a few steps forward. “Sit down and we can talk. We have much to plan. You’ve done such good work these past few years.” He kept coming closer until he was so close Bucky could smell him. Good cologne and tobacco. 

“Think about your choices here,” Pierce said. “What do you really want to do?”

Bucky said nothing. And then he swung the back of the metal arm at Pierce’s face. 

Pierce caught his wrist mid-swing. 

Caught the metal arm like it was nothing. Easy as anything. His first thought was that Pierce was enhanced. Like the blonde man Bucky could almost remember, like the red skull face man. Like he was. 

But then, no, he realized that he could pull out of the hold if he wanted. He could truly hit him if he wanted. He could kill him just as easily as he’d killed the other men. It was him. He hadn’t swung hard; he had known Pierce would stop him. He had bet on Pierce stopping him. 

“See there?” Pierce said. “No need for all this.” 

Bucky flexed his arm so that the metal plates recalibrated. Pierce squeezed the arm harder. Bucky could barely feel it. 

“We both know how this works.” He released Bucky’s arm. “You will regret that, Soldier.”

Bucky stood frozen in his spot and Pierce tucked his hands back in his pockets and easily stepped to the side. He signaled to the guards that were left. “He’ll behave now.”

Two of them grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and pulled him backwards. He went almost limply. They dropped him into the chair, which instantly came to life, securing him in. His breath sped up, his panic rose. 

“What do you say now, Soldier?” Pierce asked. 

“Ready to comply.”

“It’s too late for that.” Pierce said. “Wipe him. And then wipe him again.” No. No. “And again and again until he understands what compliance is.”

Pierce came over to him. He took the rubber mouth guard from a tech and shoved it into Bucky’s mouth. “And then put him on ice. He’s done here.”

The last thing Bucky saw, as the chair closed around his head, was Pierce walking away.

 

Bucky came back to himself. He was standing up in their nest. The metal arm was is chaos; constantly shifting its plates. Recalibrating and recalibrating. Tight and then loose and then tight. Steve was on the ground in front of him, one cheekbone bright red and already looking like a bruise.

No. No.

Not this. Not Steve. Bucky’s breath sped up, doubled and then tripled. He backed up, tripped over a pillow and landed hard on the floor and then kept pushing himself back.   
Steve got up, his movements slow and careful. 

“Buck,” he said softly. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. Look at it. It’s fine. It’ll heal in a second.”

Bucky pushed up from the floor and pressed himself against the back wall of the cabin. The metal arm was freaking out. He was freaking out. Not Steve. Not Steve. Don’t hurt Steve.   
Steve kept his distance, but extended one arm out to Bucky. 

“I won’t hurt you. It’s okay.”

It was not okay. It was not even remotely okay. 

This is why he kept himself from Steve in the first place.

Wipe him. Wipe him 

He’d been out of cryo too long. He needed to be reset. 

No. There was no cyro anymore. He was in the cabin with Steve. Steve who he hit. Steve who should hit him back. No. Steve doesn’t do that. 

Put him on ice.

There was ice and snow outside, but Steve was between him and the door. He lunged for the bathroom. Steve didn’t stop him. It was only place with a door inside the cabin. He went in, closed the door. Kept Steve on the outside.

“Buck—” One of Steve’s hands came down flat on the door. “Bucky, I’m sorry.”

Bucky turned on the bath water to drown out Steve’s pleas. The water was cold straight from the faucet. 

Put him on ice.

Bucky slid into the tub.


	2. You Can Do No Wrong In My Eyes

Steve had become used to the zoned-out way Bucky looked when he was remembering something. His mouth slightly open and his empty gaze off to the side. Most notably his arm, the metal one, would start rearing and buzzing like it did when he fought. Steve didn’t think Bucky was fully in control of it these days.

It made a fuss during sex too. In bed, Bucky always held it out to the side and didn’t touch Steve with it, even though Steve had said that he could. Steve now recognized the sounds of the jerky resets of Bucky’s arm as just another sign that Bucky was close—like the way he tucked his head against Steve’s chest, or the small grunts from the back of his throat—it was just a part of Bucky and a sign that Steve was doing something right.

But this was definitely bad. Steve snatched the file back. He almost threw it into the fire, not wanting it to ever hurt Bucky again. But Bucky had been so adamant that he wanted to see it. So Steve tucked it off to the side out of sight, so that Bucky wouldn’t be triggered again when he snapped out of this. He got up on his knees and moved closer to Bucky but didn’t touch him.

Bucky had only had a few full panic attacks in the months they’d been here, which Steve was thankful for, but sometimes, especially lately, he’d become jumpy after he recovered a memory.

“Buck, can you hear me?” He said softly enough to not startle him.

Bucky didn’t respond except for the whirring of his arm. Then, suddenly, he stood up.

Steve followed him up. “You okay?” He asked, but as soon as he looked at Bucky he realized Bucky was still stuck in the memory. His eyebrows had furrowed and his jaw was tight. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Back in Brooklyn, before the war, Bucky would help Steve through asthma attacks. He would hold Steve’s back against his chest and press a big warm hand across Steve’s chest, until he was able to match his breathing to Bucky’s. Steve wanted to do that now for Bucky, to hold him close until this passed. But he stayed back, still worried he would scare Bucky.

Bucky made a terrible sound, like a cut off scream, and then the full bulk of his left arm came flying at Steve’s face.

It was so fast and sudden that Steve didn’t have time to dodge it, and took the hit to his cheekbone. It sent him to the floor. He hadn’t had even a second to recover when Bucky came out of it. His eyes were wild and wide. He’d started breathing again, fast and hard. Panic was overwhelming him. He stumbled backward and fell, but he kept moving away from Steve.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered.

  
Steve got up, but tried to keep his distance as best as he could in the small room.

“Buck,” he said, “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. Look at it. It’s fine. It’ll heal in a second.”

He could feel warmth in his cheek as blood rushed to it.

Bucky stood up and seemed to try to disappear into the back wall.

“Don’t hurt—don’t hurt—not Steve.” Bucky was saying. He wasn’t responding to Steve at all. He was still lost in the memory.

“I won’t hurt you. It’s okay.” Steve reached an arm out to try to steady him.

Bucky bolted into the bathroom.

“Buck—” Steve grabbed for the door but it closed. “Bucky, I’m sorry.”

Steve slid down against the door and sat, resolved to wait Bucky out. He could open the door—it didn’t have a lock—but he knew Bucky needed space. It was important, after everything Bucky had been through, to respect his choices. If he wanted away from Steve, he had that right, and Steve wasn’t going to be the one to take it from him. The bathroom was the only place Bucky could go—except outside—where there was a door between him and Steve, so it made sense.  
Bucky had been afraid of him. The look of terror in Bucky’s eyes would stay with him.

When he’d first found Bucky, Steve had sidled around the small one room cabin worried to get too close to Bucky. He didn’t know how much Bucky remembered or how his mind worked. They didn’t share the bed at first. Bucky confessed the first day that he hadn’t slept in it at all. The pile of blankets on the floor by the fire was his bed.

“I’m used to sleeping in weird places,” Bucky had said, almost sheepishly. “Until recently—well, I guess a bed hasn’t really been an option.”

Steve had seen some of the places Bucky had been staying. They were often only a few hours behind him, and had uncovered more than one of his hiding places. Sleeping bags under overpasses, cars in alleyways, abandoned storefronts—it was certainly not a comfortable existence. Not that he and Sam had been living in luxury, but cheap motels were a step up from living on the street.

Steve had slept in the bed alone the first few nights. Part of him wanted to sleep on the floor with Bucky, but that seemed too forward somehow, like he would be invading Bucky’s space. Plus, the mattress was firm and lumpy, just the way Steve liked it, and it had been a while since he’d been able to sleep soundly. Bucky’s nearby presence was plenty enough to put him at ease.  
None of this did anything to ease his worries about Bucky seeing him as an authority figure. Natasha had warned him that Bucky might have been passed from handler to handler and was used to treating everyone as if they were in charge of him. Sleeping on the bed while Bucky slept on the floor like a dog looked like a power move, and that was the last thing Steve wanted. So, he kept his distance, kept his body language open and vulnerable, and made it a rule to never tell Bucky to do anything.

Then Bucky kissed him. Then Bucky pulled him into bed. Then they’d found love and heat in the middle of the winter. Steve was less worried after that.

 

The water in the tub started running. Steve listened for the sound of Bucky switching on the shower, but it never came. He heard Bucky climb into the tub. That was strange. Bucky never took baths, only ever quick military efficiency showers. And even those Steve had to nudge him towards. Bucky would have preferred to roll around in the snow outside and call himself clean.  
The thought made Steve shiver. He hated the snow. When he was small, the winters had always meant a bad cold and aches in his joints, so he’d never been a fan. But since he came out of the ice, he’d had a fear that the cold would try to take him back. Like quicksand in a cartoon, it would swallow him up whole again. You never forget how it feels to die.

Steve traced a hand along the door. He longed to go inside and see what Bucky was doing. Maybe he had calmed down and just wanted to relax and decided to try something new. Steve had been urging him to try new things for months—pieces of fruit, and fizzing lemon candies, comic books, or stuff Steve had seen in porn—most of it had been taken on favorably by Bucky, but he rarely ventured out on his own to try something.

Steve felt along the door again. Cold. No matter how quickly they showered, the bathroom, and the whole of the cabin was filled with steam, the space was so small. But no warmth was seeping out from under the door. The water in the bath was still flowing. Steve’s heartbeat quickened. He stood up and looked at the door. It was the representation of privacy and trust.

But Bucky had been in a bad way, he could do something to hurt himself. He was still stuck in the memory. He had thought Steve was going to punish him.

Punish him. That was it.

Steve remembered Bucky, out in the snow while Steve stayed on the porch. Bucky had dove down into the fresh snow and come up wet and cold. He’s shaken his hair, sending bits of ice and water flying.

“Feels like the old days,” Bucky had said, and Steve had thought he meant before the war, but he had really meant with Hydra. “Screw up a mission? Talk back? Bam! —Right back in the fucking freezer.” He fell backwards, sprawled out and started making a snow angel. “Feels like coming home.”

Steve had hated that. “They put you in cryo as a punishment?”

Bucky climbed back up onto the porch, clothes wet and sagging. He pressed a cold kiss to Steve’s lips. “Not anymore.”

 

Steve felt the door one more time. Still cold. “Bucky?” He called. “Are you okay?” No answer.

“Buck, I’m coming in.”

He opened the door and could feel the cold wetness to the room. He went in.

Bucky was in the tub with the cold water still splashing in. He looked still and calm. Eyes closed, mouth open. Even the metal arm was quiet. He almost seemed to be sleeping. Only his chest gave him away; it was seizing in abrupt shivers, trying to pump warmth into his freezing body.  
Steve ran over to the tub and turned off the water. He reached his hand under the water to pull the drain plug. The water was so cold it burned.

 

“Goddammit, Buck,” He said and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s chest and pulled him out of the water. He laid him out on the floor and grabbed a towel. He rubbed it quickly along Bucky’s arms and legs, trying to get heat back into him. Bucky wasn’t quite blue, but he wasn’t exactly pink either.

“Fuck—” Bucky said, trying to sit up. A shiver ran through his body, but his eyes were clear and focused again. “What did I do?”

Steve wrapped him up in the towel. “You’re alright now.”

Bucky reached up and touched Steve’s cheek. The metal hand was like ice against his face.

“I hit you.”

“Let’s get you warmed up.”

Steve worked his arms under Bucky’s legs and around his back, and picked him up bridal style and carried him out of the bathroom and over to their nest. Bucky didn’t struggle against him and let Steve pile on the blankets and pillows in silence.

Steve left him by the fire and made more bad tea. He put a spoonful of honey in Bucky’s.

Bucky sipped at it dutifully and stared at the fire.

Steve made the bed to have something to do.

As he tucked in the last corner of the comforter, Bucky turned to fix a look on him.

“You’re mad.” He said.

“I’m not mad at you.” Steve said.

“Used to be you were nothing but anger.” Bucky sipped at the tea. “Are you still like that?”

Sometimes Steve had to remember that they didn’t know each other any more. It had been 70 years after all. Plus Bucky’s memory was spotty at best. Steve should count himself lucky that Bucky remembered him at all.

Little Steve had chips on both his shoulders and something to prove. But it had been years and years and years and Steve was tired.

The shield and uniform were stashed in a duffle bag by the door, ready and waiting. His burner phone had only Natasha and Sam in it, but he knew that Tony would find him if he wanted. After DC and the fall of SHIELD, he had thought of leaving his stuff behind—he wasn’t sure that was who he was anymore. But he also didn’t know who he was without it. Except there was Bucky.

Even when I had nothing I had Bucky

Every trail that went cold, every empty hideout, every time he was sure he caught Bucky out of the corner of his eye, all of them were like ice through his heart.

I don’t think he wants to be found, Cap. Sam had said, more than once. But Steve had pushed and pushed and run on nothing but hope for nearly two years and he had him now. Had him in this little box of a life with no one to bother them and nothing to do but talk and fuck and remember and hold each other. It couldn’t possibly last like this. The world would come calling. It always did. But it wasn’t calling right now.

“I’m not mad at you.” Steve said again.

He looked back over to Bucky, his hair still wet against his shoulders. Bucky extended his flesh arm to Steve.

“Come here,” he said.

Steve went willingly and soon was settled against Bucky’s chest, which was damp but warm.

“I should be the one holding you,” Steve said. He wrapped his arm around Bucky’s back.

“We both got spooked,” Bucky said. He sighed and shifted so they were both lying down, their long legs tangling up in blankets. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“Then don’t scare me.” Steve said, a quirk of a smile on his face. Bucky squeezed his shoulder.

“I just thought if I could put it all together and get it in the right order, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to remember. And then we wouldn’t have this hanging over us. We could just be.”

Steve reached a hand up and ran it over Bucky’s jaw. “You have to heal. Let it take time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed Steve on the forehead. “Neither am I.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
